


What Comes After

by stabmyfacewithaspork



Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018), Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Domestic, Families of Choice, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Night Terrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stabmyfacewithaspork/pseuds/stabmyfacewithaspork
Summary: Collection of oneshots focusing on Rusca, Joven and Kiko after the Battle at Tirad Pass. Pre - MLQ





	1. Tsaa sa Gabi (Rusca)

_The ride to Cabanatuan was long and hot. Rusca would’ve asked for a break had the general not been so eager for an audience with the president. Paco, riding next to him, shot the Rusca an apologetic smile, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking._

_“Ayos lang. Bihira naman umayon kay Heneral and Presidente.” he thought._

_They arrived with the noon sun burning their skin and the entire convent eerily silent. Lunchtime, they had concluded._

_“Pagpalain kayo, Heneral.”_

_General Luna smiled at them as he went inside the convent, with hope that maybe a new government would bring about their victory. He and Paco remained outside, with hope of a better leadership in the coming days. Cabanatuan’s quiet settled upon them and they breathed in relief._

_That is until the gunshots were heard._

* * *

Rusca couldn’t sleep tonight. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while now.

It’s been a week since he found his nephew, Kiko, and his old friend, Joven. When they saw the young man, passed out and wounded from his fall, the former captain let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him still alive.

 _Dios ko,_ he thought, _salamat at ligtas ang binata._

When he awoke, the boy couldn’t prevent tears coming from him. Joven clung tightly to him, despite the many bruises and surely broken bones he sustained. And Rusca can’t blame him.

After everything that happened, he never wished for a familiar face so fervently in his life.

“Mukhang walang tulugan nanaman ngayon.” Accepting his fate, Rusca rose from his bed and head out of his room. He made sure his footsteps were silent, as to not disturb Kiko’s or Joven’s sleep.

Kiko’s room was across his, it having been the child’s designated room whenever he and his father visited his Tio Eduardo during the summer. Rusca carefully pushed the door just a fraction to peer inside.

The boy, swaddled by blankets, slept curled up as if trying to protect himself now that his father couldn’t. Rusca’s heart ached. _Pantaleon, anong gagawin ko ngayon?_

Closing the door with a weary sigh, the man opted to make himself tea from the kitchen only to notice Joven’s door open and with the young man missing.

Panic filled him and he rushed downward, silence be damned.

_Putangina naman, Joven._

_Nasaan ka?_

_Hindi ka pwedeng mapahamak._

The last time he let someone out of his sight, the general died. He can’t let that happen to the kid. He shouldn’t be involved in this. He can’t let the him die-

He…

He’s sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea.

Joven had his feet pulled up on the chair, the white mug set on the table. With the light from the lamp, Rusca could see the hollowness of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes. For a boy of 19, Joven looked much older. Part of him blames himself for it.

“Kapitan?”

The soft voice pulled him out of his stupor. Quickly, he gave the journalist an easy smile.

“Joven. Ba’t gising ka pa? Hating gabi na!”

The boy looked away from him towards the light from the lamp. There was a moment of hesitance, familiar from when they were still in Bagbag, and for a while Rusca didn’t know what to say. The former captain made his way to the cupboard to make tea, the way Paco had once taught him.

_Kumuha ng kutsara at baso._

_Ilagay ang tsaa at dahan – dahang ibuhos ang maiinit na tubig hanggang sa halos mapuno._

“Nahihirapan po akong makatulog.”

Rusca slowly placed down the hot kettle and turned to face Joven. _Punyeta naman talaga ang buhay. Kahit bata pinaparusahan._

Sitting down from across him, he noticed the bandages that covered his hands and the cast on his left arm. Joven in turn was looking straight at him

It was quiet.

Rusca shifted slightly, unsure how to proceed. “Sabi sakin na nakakabuti raw ang tsaa bilang pampatulog.”

“Kaya ho ba umiinom din kayo?”

He doesn’t say anything. He merely took a sip from his cup. Joven did the same.

“Sabi ho sakin ng ama ko mas nakakagising raw ang tsaa.”

“Kung ganoon ay nagsinungaling sakin si Paco!” Joven let in a sharp breathe and _tangina naman, Eduardo, bakit mo pa kasi pinaalala._

It’s been almost a week since they found Joven in the cliff. It’s been a week since he started living with him. It’s been a week, but not once had they both asked what happened. Rusca with General Luna, Joven with the _Brigada del Pilar_.

 He doesn’t know if he wants to.

But Joven was an intuitive boy, perceptive of his surroundings. A little too much for his safety. So the former captain wasn’t all the surprised that he doesn’t insist, despite his obvious curiosity. This time, however, the boy had another question in mind.

“Kapitan, sa tingin niyo ho ba mahina ang taong mabilis magbago ang pananaw?”

Rusca paused, his tea long cold in his hand. He had a feeling where this was going. The child had spent four months in the Boy General’s ranks. Though it pains him to think, Joven was young and impressionable. Del Pilar was rumored to be a good with his words; it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that Joven would fall prey to his charm.

 _Nakakalungkot_ but he doesn’t know how to tell the journalist the truth, that General del Pilar was the president’s executioner, the one that hunted General Luna’s men, the one that killed the Bernals.

“Joven, alam kong sa loob ng ilang buwan ay marahil napalapit ka kay Heneral Goyo at sa kanyang brigada, ngunit sa tingin ko ay hindi mo alam ang katotohanan sa mga ginawa niya.”

For the first time that evening, the boy looked him in the eye. Gone was the usual hesitation he associated with him since they’ve met. Instead, what was left was steely determination.

“Mawalang galang na po, Kapitan, ngunit hindi na po akong isang batang walang kamalayan sa tama at mali. Nawa’y huwag niyo akong tingnan na parang hangal.”

“Hijo, hindi mabuting tao si Heneral del Pilar. Isa lamang siyang sunod-sunuran sa Presidente na walang sariling panin-“

“Alam ko iyon, Kapitan.”

“Kung ganoon bakit parang ipinagtatanggol mo siya?”

The boy stilled from his seat, there was a challenge in his stare. Rusca merely stared back.

“Si Heneral del Pilar, noong makilala ko, ay isang duwag na ang tangin hanap ay aliw at ginhawa. Hindi nagdududa sa kahit anumang utos ng kanyang idolo. Napakalaki ng agwat niya at ng Heneral Luna.”

Joven stood up and made his way to nearby window. His back was fully illuminated by the light of the oil lamp he brought, while he faces towards the dark outside. And he continued.

“Kung nakita niyo lamang ho ang mga tao sa Dagupan. Tulad niya na ang hanap ay pistahan na para bang natatapos ang giyera sa putok ng isang baril. Pinili ng natin maging bulag sa panganib na hinintay tayong makatulog bago lusubin.”

The boy turned back to face him, and the former captain saw the tenseness in his jaw, the way his clenched fist trembled, the way he resembled General Luna in his moments of weakness.

Suddenly, Joven looked anything but a child.

“Inisip ko noon na kung lahat tayo ay katulad nang Heneral Goyo, walang dudang matatalo tayo.”

Rusca turned away, the young man’s words cutting too close to home.

“Joven, wala tayong magagawa.”

“Kapitan, tinatanong ko ulit sa iyo, mahina ba ang taong nagbago?”

There was silence between them.

“Paano mo nasabing nagbago siya?”

Joven’s face softened and he turned to look back out the window, tilting his head towards the nighttime sky.

“Sa bundok ng Tirad, pagkatapos ng matagal na paglalakbay, pakiramdam ko may napagtanto siya. Sa taas ng bundok, malayo sa lahat, sa tingin ko nakita na niya ang dapat niyang ipaglaban.” He smiled. “Naisip ko lang, na kung ang tulad niya’y natuto at nagbago, marahil ay ang Pilipino rin, di ba?”

 _Hah, tila isang pangarap ng uliran._ Rusca couldn’t help but laugh. _Ngunit hindi siguro masama, kung maghangad tayo ng ganito._

“Pakiramdam ko, Joven, na may kahinaan ang taong hindi matatag sa kanyang paninindigan.” Joven turned to him. This time, Rusca met his gaze with a smile. “Pero may kalakasan sa pagtanggap ng kaniyang kamalian.”

The young man let out a breathe that sounded more like laughter.

“Marahil ganon nga po.”

“At ano naman ang nagudyok sa iyong mag – isip ng ganiyan?”

“Ayaw kong manatiling bulag, Kapitan.”

“Tama ka. Hindi ka na bata.”

The journalist sat back down the table. There was no longer tension in this silence, merely peace between them and a newfound realization. They sat together until the sun came out.

* * *

 

“Kapitan?”

“Hmm? Bakit?”

“Nakalimutan niyo po ang inumin nyo.”

“Ay, nyeta!”

 


	2. Telegrama (Joven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College life blows so I tried to write fluff to feel better. This didn't turn out exactly how I wanted but it's something.
> 
>  
> 
> Alam kong may sinabi si direk tungkol sa tatay ni Joven pero dahil 3 years pa bago ang MLQ lahat ng nandito is purely for creative purposes.

_Minamahal kong Itay,_

_Mahaba – habang panahon ang nakalipas nang huli akong nakasulat sa inyo. Marahil narinig niyo po ang nangyari sa Bundok ng Tirad. Huwag po kayo mag – alala. Ligtas po ako ngayon sa Angake sa pangangalaga ni Eduardo Rusca, dati ko pong kaibigan sa kampo ni Heneral Luna. Malaki po ang tiwala ko sa kanya._

_Aaminin ko po, Itay, nag – aalala ako sa inyo lagi. Matagal na rin po noong nakarinig ako ng balita mula sa inyo sa Laguna. Binalak ko ho sanang pumunta at bumisita sa inyo bago sumapit ang Pasko. Pero alam ko po na hindi niyo gusto akong mapalapit sa gulo kaya ang hiling ko lamang po ay makarinig sa inyo. Kamusta na po kayo? Magingat po kayo, Itay._

_Nagmamahal,_

_Joven._

* * *

Spending the nights drinking tea with Rusca helped, in Joven’s honest opinion. Ever since he was a child he had a habit of staying up late at night thinking. As a writer, it was much appreciated but now that he had no need to write anything, it was a pain.

Having company to burn the midnight oil with is nice for a change, though he felt bad at the fact that the former captain might feel obligated to suffer lack of sleep with him. This was why Joven resolved to make it up to him by making breakfast as often as he can despite not being the best at cooking.

Eggs were easy enough to make, he hoped, and it went fine with the _pan de sal_ he bought at the nearby bakery. He also bought some _nata de coco_ just in case Kiko preferred something sweeter.

He was just about done setting the table when he heard the older man’s footsteps coming from the stairs.

“Grabe naman, Joven. Inunahan mo nanaman ako magluto.” Rusca was still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he sat down exactly where he did the night before.

“Magandang umaga ho. Alam naman po natin na kapag kayo ang pinagluto ko, baka kainin ninyo agad kakaluto pa lang.” Joven said as he placed a mug filled with coffee in front of Rusca and went to his seat. The latter laughed at the accusation.

“Uy, hindi naman!  At saka, nag – aalala lang ako at baka masakit pa ang mga sugat mo.”

The gunshot wound to his hand has healed up quite nicely, with the occasional phantom pains here and there. The rest of the cuts and bruises he got from the fall have been healing properly as well.

“Hindi na po, Kapitan.” The other man nodded and began reaching for the _nata_ only for Joven to swat his hand away.

“Huy!”

“Para kay Kiko ko iyan binili.” The journalist couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the older man pouting. Before they managed to say another word, though, Kiko came barreling down into the kitchen. The boy stopped by the doorframe, panting, and stared blankly.

After exchanging a worried glance with Rusca, Joven cleared his throat and greeted him. “Magandang umaga, Kiko! Mag – umagahan ka na.”

This jolted him out of his trance and the boy muttered hesitantly. “Magandang umaga ho Kuya. Tio.”

He sat down right next to Joven and they began eating. As Joven thought, Kiko immediately reached for both the _nata_ and a _pan de sal_. He shared a smile with Rusca from across the table. Ever since they came back from Tirad, the boy had been quiet. He spoke rarely and ate sparingly. This had been the most he’s eaten for a week.

Crumbs had accumulated on the child’s cheek and Joven couldn’t help but wipe it off, earning him a muffled chuckle from the former captain. The rest of their meal proceeded quietly.

“Kiko, hijo.” Rusca called from the sink. “Narinig ko kahapon na nandiyan sina Enyang at Tobe ngayon para sa Pasko. Baka gusto nilang may makalaro.”

 Kiko paused from the stairs and peered at his uncle with hopeful eyes. “Pwede po?”

“Basta bumalik ka bago maghapunan.”

The boy’s face lit up with a smile as he dashed out of the door, barely hearing Joven’s frantic call of “Dahan – dahan at baka matapilok!”

 _Hayaan mo na siya, Joven. Mabuti na lang at nabuhayan ulit._ He thought to himself. The journalist couldn’t help but worry for the late lieutenant’s son. The brief time he spent caring for the boy made him feel responsible for him, especially now that his father…

Joven clutched the letter tucked inside his pocket.

“-oven.”

He couldn’t fathom the feeling.

“Huy, Joven.”

He couldn’t possibly abandon him now, not like what he did with-

“JOVEN!”

Rusca’s voice near his ears almost made him jump out of his skin. The older man narrowed his eyes at him in scrutiny. “Joven, ayos ka lang ba talaga?”

_Hindi ko na dapat binibigyan gulo ang kapitan._

“Ah! Opo, Kapitan, napaisap lamang. Saan po papunta si Kiko?”

Rusca continued to eye him warily before saying in an even tone “Sa tapat bahay lamang. Kaibigan ni Kiko ang mga anak nila. Huwag kang mag – alala.”

Joven gave a small nod and was about to head for the sink until the older man spoke again.

“Rusca.”

“Ho?”

“Tinanggalan na ako ng ranggo, Joven. Rusca na lamang ang itawag mo sa akin.”

“Sige ho… Rusca.”

That earned him an abrupt bark of laughter from the other man. “Halatang hindi ka sanay! Nagdadalawang isip ka pa!”

The young man huffed out a small laugh and moved to take the plates from Rusca’s hands. “Ligpitin na po natin ito. Maaari niyo po ba ituro sakin kung saan pwedeng magpadala ng telegrama?”

“Kanino mo naman ipapadala?”

“Sa itay ko po.”

* * *

Angake was a small and peaceful town. _Napakatahimik kung ikukumpara sa Kapi- Rusca._ As Joven and Rusca made their way to the post office, a few people would smile at them or greet the former captain kindly. He would point out places of interest, accompanying it with stories of childhood shenanigans. The air around them was calm and smelled vaguely of _palay_ from the nearby fields.

It had been a while since Joven felt this kind of peace.

“- at pagkatapos noon, hindi na ako pinapayagang lumapit sa bahay nila!” Rusca finished another one of his ridiculous anecdotes as Joven tried and failed to deter his laughter.

The other man always had a way of making people gravitate to him, Joven included. There was something amazing in the lightheartedness he maintained wherever he was, in the battlefield or otherwise. It was something the young photographer appreciated, especially now.

“Kung ibang tao siguro ang nagkwento, hindi ho kapanipaniwala. Tila yatang kayo lamang ang makakagawa niyan.” he said as his laughter subsided.

“Malamang dahil ako’y namumukod tangi!”

“Hindi ko ho maitatanggi.”

Joven could see from the corner of his eyes how the older man suddenly stiffened, and he worried if he had offended him in some way. That is until he noticed the sudden flush that overtook his companion’s cheeks and how their arms would brush as they unconsciously drifted closer to each other.

Joven doesn’t know how to feel about this.

_Huwag mong pangunahan ang sarili mo, Joven._

Rusca let out a nervous sounding laugh and went to scratch the back of his neck. “Oh, kanina pa ako nagkwekwento. Ikaw naman.”

“Kumpara po sa inyo, wala ho akong masyadong kwento.”

“Hindi naman siguro. Tungkol sa tatay mo!”

* * *

_When Joven was younger, his father had wanted him to grow up strong and principled. The revolution against Spain was at its climax and Eugenio Hernando wanted his beloved only son to be a man with the will to fight for his freedom._

_On early mornings they would head deep up the mountains of Galalan to practice Joven’s marksmanship away from the eyes of the Spaniards. His father would show him the proper posture, grip and aim then would let him practice by etching target marks on the thick trees._

_On the evenings, they would sit in the sala to discuss books about medicine, philosophy and so on. They would talk about things like freedom and revolution, of a country in which fellow countrymen call the shots._

_He was a clumsy child and struggled to gain decent accuracy in shooting bullets. Despite so, his father would smile at him. He’d be as proud and encouraging of him for nearly hitting a mark as he would when Joven finished an essay._

_Joven began to develop a love for literature and soon enough journalism. He falls asleep to the narratives of Noli Me Tangere and wakes up to read whatever clippings of La Solidaridad they had. Joven learned to love writing._

_He never learned to love the gun._

_His father was Major Hernando, a ranking official with a decent reputation. He was strict when discipline was needed and kind when it is merited._

_He was all Joven had._

_Eugenio wanted a strong principled son. Instead, he has Joven whose mediocre marksmanship was erased by his terrible eyesight, whose anger he’d rather express in poetry than in combat._

_Joven grew to be principled, but not strong._

_He would mule over this at night, wondering if he would shame his father for not being the ideal son, wondering if his father would think him weak and lowly._

_He wonders, too, if he’d still love him._

_When he was 17 years old, Joven told his father how it felt wrong to use a gun. He told him how he fears war and how much of a liability he’ll be in the battlefield. He told him how he knows deep in his bones that he’d do so much more for his country as a writer proclaiming truths than as a soldier dying in a trench 10 minutes into combat._

_He was ready for disappointment, or possibly, anger. Joven placated himself thinking it the measure of his strength, to be able to keep a straight face in front of the Major Hernando._

_He wasn’t ready for neither his father’s laughter nor the pat on back._

_“Ikaw ang anak ko. Ano man ang piliin mo, basta maligaya ka, ay tatanggapin ko.”_

_At 17, Joven faced Major Hernando but was met with Eugenio Hernando._

_At 18, his father gifted him a set of books from Spain._

_At 19, his father gave him the opportunity to meet and write about General Antonio Luna._

* * *

“Mabuti siyang ama sa iyo.”

“Oo nga po.”

They decided to take a detour to the market on their way home with Rusca insisting on making dinner as thanks for Joven preparing breakfast.

The two maintained the same proximity they had earlier without either becoming too self-conscious.

“Sa totoo nga lang, Kapi- Rusca. Naiisip po ako bumisita sa kaniya ngayong Pasko. Matagal na kaming hindi nagkikita.”  

Rusca was silent for a few moments before finally saying “Aalis ka?”

For a moment, he seemed to sound upset but Joven refused to think of any implication. “Hindi ho. Alam kong hindi ako papayagan ni itay lumapit sa gulo.”

“Ayaw ka lang niyang mapahamak.”

“Tunay nga.” Without much thought, he added “Paumanhin po at mukhang maabala pa ho kayo sa akin.”

“Hindi kita itinuturing na abala, Joven.”

The other man glanced at him, a sincere smile visible, and he couldn’t help the warmth of relief flooding him.

“Salamat, Rusca.”

* * *

Dinner was quiet and uneventful. And so too was the nightly tea time they had shared. Kiko, though still withdrawn, had seemed lighter after a day with his friends.

Joven writes another letter that evening, about how his father shouldn’t worry for he is surrounded by good people. He writes about Kiko, whom he’d grown to care for, and Rusca, whose presence slowly became a comfort to him.

Joven can’t wait to hear from his father again.

* * *

_Ginoong Joven Hernando_

_Sa ngalan ng Republika ng Pilipinas, iIkinalulungkot naming ibalita ang pagkamatay ng inyong ama na si Komandante Eugenio Hernando. Namatay siya nang ika-14 ng Disyembre sa Calamba, Laguna dahil sa mga sugat na natamo mula sa labanan. Nawa’y tanggapin niyo ang aming sympatiya._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had no idea where I was going with this. First fic posted so please wag kayong mangaway ahahahahaha sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, simula henlu ko pa ship ang ruscoven. Ngayon lang ako nagkaroon ng lakas ng loob gumawa ng content. Hindi po ako bihasang manunulat lalo na sa Tagalog. Kaya pag pasensyahan nyo na po.


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